


Talking Out Problems

by Bibliotecaria_D



Series: Footnotes: Sand Box [5]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 22:45:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibliotecaria_D/pseuds/Bibliotecaria_D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Come play in the sand box.</i> (Astrotrain doesn’t want to talk about it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talking Out Problems

_Come play in the sand box._ (Astrotrain doesn’t want to talk about it.)

 

 **Title:** Talking Out Problems  
 **Warnings:** “I like big guns, and I cannot lie, you other ‘Cons can’t deny, that when a ‘Bot walks in -- just an itty bitty gunner -- and a giant thing in your face, you get sprung!”  
 **Rating:** G  
 **Continuity:** G1, _Footnotes_ AU  
 **Characters:** Astrotrain, Bluestreak  
 **Disclaimer:** The theatre doesn’t own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.  
 **Motivation (Prompt):** _”Our last defense”_

[* * * * *]

“That,” Astrotrain said, disgust layered flat and heavy over the words, “is our last defense.” The normal resonance had disappeared from his deep voice, echoes from the large open compartments near his vocalizer canceled out by sheer disbelief. “This is the best sharpshooter available?” Blast Off didn’t deign to answer, having long since decided the whole fragging situation was too undignified for acknowledgement1.

Blitzwing had no such problem. “Does he ever shut up long enough to shoot?!”

That carried quite nicely across the landing field. The group of Autobots gathered around Bluestreak turned as one mech to glare at in the triple-changers’ direction, but Bluestreak wilted a bit. He did not, Astrotrain noticed, stop talking, although his voice lowered to a soft murmur that could no longer be heard from all the way across the tarmac.

Blast Off reached over and smacked Blitzwing upside the head, “Hey! What the fr—“ before Astrotrain had the chance, which didn’t stop the other Decepticon from waiting a second and _then_ smacking him. “Ow!” The stupid afthead cringed, reflexively covering his helm in defense against more hitting. They hadn’t exactly been gentle smacks. “What was **that** for?!”

“Shut up before Megatron lets Prime at us again!” Astrotrain hissed as Blast off rumbled, “I’d prefer my epitaph to be something more exciting than Death by Lecture.”

Skyfire tiredly inserted himself into the cluster of Decepticon shuttles before yet another fight could start. Even Blitzwing’s snarl cut off, and the three heavy hitters parted before the gentle scientist like butter under a hot knife. Nobody, but nobody, messed with Skyfire.

For one thing, for the extent of the truce the Constructicons had declared him a minor god of their personal pantheon. That meant that if any Decepticon laid so much as a dirty look on the big white shuttle, the build team would lay a combiner team smackdown on said foolish Decepticon. That alone would be enough to ensure the Decepticons behaved around Skyfire during the truce, but then one had to consider Starscream. One always had to consider Starscream, if only to have mercy on pained audios.

Nothing had been said, because that would be far too straightforward for the conniving Air Commander. But, well…Starscream got touchy where Skyfire was concerned. And by ‘touchy,’ that really meant that Seeker had practically hung a neon sign of _Hands Off!!_ around the poor shuttle’s neck.

Firing on Skyfire during battle was one thing. Everybody fired on everybody during battle, including commanders, best friends, and minor gods of any pantheon of choice. The truce had, nonetheless, put the Decepticons in the unanticipated scenario of peacefully dealing with their Air Commander’s ex-somethingorother2. This had proven to be a…difficult…situation for everyone involved. Starscream remained perfectly willing to shout abuse across the room, verbally backstab, and tear apart any and all theories put forth by the shuttle. Forcing him -- unarmed, because nobody was that stupid -- into a laboratory with the gentle giant had produced surprising results, however.

Everybody had expected an emergency call from Skyfire within two minutes of the door locking. They’d expected injuries, possibly an exploded audio receiver or two. What nobody had expected was a desperately flustered Air Commander mentally vomiting a set of weapons designs3 up just to _get away_. Then Skyfire had done very interesting things to those designs, and the collected Autobot and Decepticon scientists had sent out retrieval teams to drag Starscream back by a leg if necessary to repeat the process.

Skywarp had discretely told the Decepticons as a whole to stay the frag away from those two. His considered opinion was that they were going to spontaneously combust any minute now. He’d been personally ordered to report to Megatron on the situation, as the Decepticon commander had no intention of touching his Air Commander’s affairs any more closely than secondhand. Optimus Prime had returned from attempting a friendly chat with Skyfire looking like the pacifist scientist had torn strips off his armor with no more than a few profoundly, searingly polite words. Megatron wasn’t going to risk Starscream setting off something thermonuclear just to avoid ever, _ever_ talking about his history with the now-Autobot shuttle again.

All of which led to Skyfire standing like some kind of buffer in the middle of a trio of Decepticon powerhouses, wearing a tired expression full of no little exasperation but absolutely no fear. He didn’t precisely know _why_ the Decepticons avoided even looking in his direction, but he wasn’t above using that to keep the cease-fire going.

The Decepticon shuttles suddenly found other things to do. Things that were…somewhere a good distance from where Skyfire now stood. They meandered away, trying not to look like they were getting out of range of an explosion.

In Astrotrain’s case, he stalked across the landing field to stand with Dirge and Thrust. The two Coneheads looked terminally bored. He couldn’t blame them. The Autobot build team had installed power generators on all the Decepticon jets’ wings earlier, and now they were completing a preflight check. But these were the two Autobots with the blinding optimism and chunky builds4 and they were as boring as monitor duty. All they ever talked about was what they’d done before the war, their hopes for the end of the war, and their disappointment that it had come to war. Standing around listening to them talk was mind-numbing.

Megatron had specifically issued an order not to mentally scar any of the innocent little Autobot twits that had emerged from the Ark’s laboratories, no matter how inane and stupid the Decepticons found them. That mostly resulted in the Decepticon flyers standing around in bored silence as the scientists chattered like manic monkeys about the dullest topics. Planning out in detail how to exterminate the morons once the cease-fire was over had only taken up so much time.

But, one thing to be said for scientists: they had no concept of censorship. Maybe Prime kept these fools in the laboratory because they couldn’t keep their mouths shut. Good for Decepticons looking for information, but not all that useful on the battlefield. Which tied into why exactly Astrotrain had come over to socialize with the morons.

He stood behind Dirge and loomed as nonthreateningly as he could over the Autobot currently working on the jet. “Can that ‘bot actually shoot?” he asked when there was a pause in the nonstop inane blather. Idiot #1 glanced up at him, and he casually gestured at the knot of Autobots fussing around the blabbermouth. He’d been watching. The little gray Autobot hadn’t shut up once.

Idiot #1 frowned at him. “Of course. Bluestreak has the highest rating on the firing range of any of us.”

“Right,” Dirge drawled. “He distracts everyone else from aiming with the chatter.” The Autobot’s attempt at a withering glare bounced off him without effect. “Is anyone even listening to him?”

A slightly guilty look replaced the glare. This, unlike the paltry glare, zeroed the Decepticon’s attention in on him like a targeting laser: _Autobot weakness — alert, alert!_ “…not really. You, uh, learn to tune him out. Background noise, you know?” He fiddled with the power generator under Dirge’s wing, lapsing into embarrassed concentration on his job.

A confuzzled look was passed among the three Decepticons. No, they didn’t know. If any Decepticon had babbled like that, the others would have beaten him into silence. The two Decepticons eyed Bluestreak again, watching the way he never even paused between topics and skipped apparently at random into whatever passed through his processor. Dirge shot Astrotrain a pitying look. With a hefty dose of smugness added in, of course, because all the jets had to do was get the power generators on their wings within range of the S.O.A. gun5. Astrotrain, on the other hand, had to actually carry Bluestreak within his hold. The Autobot would be the one firing the gun that would supposedly save them all.

Non-stop babbling in the middle of a firefight, with Cybertron and their lives on the line.

 _Do I have to?_ Astrotrain nearly whined. But, no. He had more dignity than that. Most of the time. Although if he ended up getting cemented with alien sand 6 and dying with that dumb Autobot still babbling inside him, he hoped no one else survived to know. That was Cybertron’s last defense? _That?_

“We’re doomed,” Dirge said for him.

Across the landing field, Bluestreak jogged out of the crowd of Autobots. He flashed a bright grin full of hope and idealism toward them, and — and —

Oh.

“That’s a really big gun,” Dirge said, sounding mildly surprised. That was like blood in the water for a Sharkicon to the other Decepticons. Heads turned all around the landing field.

 _Oh._

The little gray ‘bot wielded the cannon as if he’d been built with it in his arms, like anyone else carrying that gun would look an oaf and a fool. His hands were perfectly placed along the stock and barrel, and the butt nestled against his shoulder like a lover. It looked like a third transformation, but oversized and radiating untold power. The thrum of energy connections visibly shivered the air between it and the generators carried every jet on the landing field sported. Conversations cut off mid-word as the power swelled, pulsing on their plating with noticeable pressure. The Aerialbots looked startled. The Decepticons looked envious. Blast Off pointedly turned his back.

Astrotrain couldn’t look away. In the course of the war, he’d seen mechs with weaponry sticking out of every orifice imaginable. He’d even seen them use the things. But never had he seen something so natural as the tiny little gunner carrying that gun toward him.

The Autobot’s mouth was still moving. He appeared to be talking to the gun.

Astrotrain suddenly found himself profoundly interested in what exactly Bluestreak had to say.

 

 

[* * * * *]  
 **Footnotes**  
[* * * * *]

 

1This followed in the fine, upper class tradition of _Ignore it, and it will go away._ He had been assigned Mirage as point-shooter during the defense flight against _Nope, still ignoring it_ , and they had bonded over not saying a single thing about what they were actually doing. They’d each found the other’s manners to be impeccable, if snobbish, and spent the entire time Mirage was in Blast Off’s hold speaking of trivial things with glacial politeness.

2Nobody knew, and the two main players in this particular drama weren’t talking. Curiosity would kill someone yet.

3The Constructicons had begun eying the Air Commander in a distinctly acquisitive way after seeing the weaponry. It all seemed to be based off the basic components of his null rays, weapons that had fascinated war buffs for 10 million years. Everyone knew that the jet had made his own null rays, but nobody had ever stopped to think that maybe he’d continued making shiny, lethal, pretty guns afterward. Oh, the possibilities…

4Grapple and Hoist, not that it mattered to any of the Decepticons. They had dubbed the entire Autobot team sent to Cybertron as Idiots #1-6. Then Skyfire became ‘Skyfire’ because Starscream started twitching alarmingly whenever someone referred to the shuttle as Idiot #3. Then there had been that incident with the Autobot medic having some kind of mental snap and scaring the thrusters off all the jets, whereupon he’d been given the honorary Decepticon title of ‘Run away!’ That left the microscope, who could cow even Hook into silence with big words, and the trio of builders. The lone builder complained so much nobody but Long Haul could stand him. The other two were just plain boring. The crazy Autobot engineer had -- thank _Primus_ \-- been left on Earth.

5The group of engineers, architects, scientists, and surgeons that had finalized its design had titled it a name rich in meaning and syllables alike, with a few additionally useless letters thrown in for luck. Starscream had helpfully translated this name into “Saving Our Afts” for the other flyers, who didn’t care about the political ramifications behind the factions cooperating in a joint effort at saving the planet. They’d just wanted to know if the Primus-fragged thing would work.

6Alien, killer, parasitic sand that had immobilized and possibly murdered half of Cybertron at this point. The medics were working frantically on a cure while the rest of the Autobots and Decepticons fought off the invasion. The Constructicons hadn’t even tried to explain. Idiot #4 had been confused when the flyers fled in fear from the huge words he insisted on trying to use to explain. Starscream had interrupted Skyfire’s patient explanation — at that point, it’d been the fourth repetition, using different words that still made no sense — to sum it up for them: “It’s sand. It will kill us all. **Now stop bothering us before I kill you first!** ” Even the Autobot flyer gestalt agreed those were the kind of science-y words they understood.


End file.
